Late To The Party
by GreyStark
Summary: Branson has grown tired of waiting for letters. When he catches wind that Cullen will be in Orlais for the Orlesian Nobility, he contacts an old friend for an invitation. He'd heard stories about the Inquisitor, but none of them ever said how beautiful she was. Even in the maker forsaken uniform.
1. Chapter 1

Branson had always liked a good party. And Orlesian nobles certainly knew how to throw some of the best. Though their formalwear was not the most comfortable, but when you wanted to blend in, you had to adapt to your surroundings. With a sigh, Branson adjusted the mask over his face. He noticed his brother, Cullen standing in the corner. Only Cullen could manage to look absolutely miserable surrounded by a bunch of women as they giggled, and offered to fetch him drinks. He smirked under the mask, and made his way over, a glass of wine in his hand. Cullen wouldn't take it of course, but that just meant more wine for himself.

"Well, Commander it certainly 'as been awhile," he laid the Orlesian accent on thick, hoping that it would catch his brother even more off guard. Cullen's head tilted to the side, the lack of recognition evident.

"I suppose it has," He nodded towards the women. "Madams, if you would excuse us for a moment." With some reluctance, they left after a moment or two to go find a more willing dance partner.

"I'm sorry," Cullen still looked perplexed. "I may need a reminder of when we were introduced, sir?"

"Well for one thing, we share a mother." Branson laughed, and took a sip from his wine glass. The Orlesian accent now dropped. Replaced with a lower class accent usually associated with farmers. He laughed more as his Cullens jaw briefly dropped.

"Sweet maker, Branson. What are you doing here? How did you get in here? I thought this was invitation only."

"Well, it's a good thing the mother of my son is an Orlesian noble, then, in'nit, Cull?" The two of them were no longer together, but the two of them ended things on good terms. They remained good friends, and he saw his son as often as he could manage. At one point in time, they'd been in love, but the two of them made far better friends, than life partners. The two of them did their best, and with his mothers noble blood, ensured that their son lived comfortably.

"You have a son?" More awe. Cullen was so predictable.

"If you read a letter every once in a while I reckon you'd bloody know that." Branson nudged him gently, the comment was more in jest than anything else.

"Well I do... I just. Are you married as well, then?- Nevermind. This is not the place to discuss such matters. In any case, It's good to see you, Branson."

"Likewise, Mate."

If Cullen rolled his eyes any harder, they'd be in the back of his skull.

"Are you still using that low class farming accent? I thought you'd outgrow it by now. Please, Branson. You're well read, and educated. You don't have to speak like a low born."

Branson drained his own glass was that, or punch Cullen. Not the reunion he'd hoped for. But what else could he have expected? Cullen was always an uptight prick. Why would now be any different? Branson was about to tell his brother when another voice caught his attention.

"Cullen," both men turned to see an Elvhen woman, dressed in the same ugly uniform as the rest of the Inquisition.

"Inquisitor, did you need something? The sooner we track down this infiltrator, the better."

For once, Branson was grateful for the Orlesian mask. It hid the fact that he was blushing She was beautiful! Sun kissed skin, long torso, and elegant legs. Her eyes were a piercing shade of some sort, though he couldn't exactly tell what color they were. Colors had never been his forte.

"You've attracted a following." Her voice was ow, and had quite an attractive quality to it. A bit high class for his taste, but she didn't sound overly pretencious. A quality he quite rather liked.

"Inquisitor-" Cullen began.

"Names Branson, Inquisitor. A pleasure I assure you." He bowed playfully, and he could feel the glare that radiated from Cullen.

"My brother, Inquisitor."

"And is he as good a chess player as our commander?" She chuckled quietly, and turned her attention towards Branson who winked at her under the mask.

"I play a fair bit of chess, I reckon. Decent player, yeah? Nothin' compared to m'sister, Mia though. But I'd wager I'd give your Commander here a run for his money."

She smiled. "Will you be joining us at Skyhold, then Branson?"

That was a question he hadn't anticipated. In all honesty he didn't even think about that. He froze, if only for a moment before a witty answer came to him.

"Ah, we have to see if we survive the night, Inquisitor. You know how some of these parties get out of hand. But if we do make it out of this alive, I will certainly consider the invitation. Thank you." Branson slapped Cullen on the back, and bowed once again.

"I'll leave you to your discussion with the Commander. I do hope we meet again. until then, Inquisitor."

The evening went on quite more interesting than anticipated. Occasionally, he'd catch the Inquisitor running about in the ball room. It seemed she'd even managed a dance with the grand Duchess. Much to his surprise, the Orlesian court seemed to approve of her. Nt an easy feat in the slightest. He was impressed by how easily she'd managed to bring three Orlesian leaders together. Inquisitor had her wits about her, that much was certain. Then again, should he really be all that surprised? The whispers of the Inquisitor had spread all over Thedas, but Branson was the sort of man who had to see something to truly believe it.

And sweet maker did he believe it. He'd almost lost hope of finding her towards the end f the evening, when a strange sight caught his eye. The Empress's advisor walking away from a balcony. What was her name again? Morgana? Morgy? No, that wasn't it! In any case. It didn't matter, because his curiosity had led him to her. She sat alone on the balcony.

"Not enjoying the party I reckon?" He smiled as he approached, and casually propped his elbows on the cool stone, and breathed in the cool night air as he removed the stuffy mask. Nobody was around, at the moment. Showing his face shouldn't be too much of an issue. At least not for a moment.

"I'm just worn out." She looked exhausted. Branson couldn't blame her.

"Are you alright?" He reached out a hand, tempted to touch her shoulder, but then thought better of it. He didn't want to come across as overly intrusive.

"Tonight has been...very long."

She gazed at him.

"So that's what you look like under the mask. I was curious. You look like him you know."

Indeed he did. His shoulder length curls were terrible to manage, but somehow he'd managed to tame them for the evening.

"It's almost as if we're related." He ran a hand over his stubbled cheek, and let his hand drop as it slid over his goatee. Much to Branson's relief, she laughed. Good. The inquisitor had a sense of humor. In times like these, a little fun never hurt anyone."

He chuckled quietly as the partygoers inside clapped. He grinned, and took a step back.

"Would you care for one last dance, Inquisitor? I'm not as harsh a judge as the court, I promise you." He offered out his hand to her. She looked taken aback, but after the question registered, she took his hand.

"That sounds like just the break I needed."

Branson was not the best dancer in the world, but he managed to not step on her toes. He even dipped her playfully. Her laughter rang out over the music. She had a nice laugh. it was infectious. Made her all the more attractive.

Should he be having those sort of thoughts? She'd asked him to come to Skyhold. Essentially an invitation to join the inquisition. Business mixed with pleasure hadn't usually ended well.

"That offer is still on the table you know." She whispered.

"Sorry?"

"To come to Skyhold. I could use another chess partner.

"I'll have to give it some thought. But I reckon I wouldn't mind joinin' up. Can't let Commander Git have all the gory now can I?" He winked, and she buried her head in his shoulder as she attempted to mask her laughter.

"I suppose you can't."

He had a lot to consider. Would he be okay with leaving his son for that long? His mother would understand. And as much as he joked, the inquisition was a good cause.

He mostly missed his brother. If he did join, they could make up for lost time. But the longer they danced, the more attached to the idea he became.


	2. Chapter 2: A New Place To Call Home

"Megan," Branson placed his hand on her cheek. A new bruise was there. She'd clearly had a run in with that bastard. "You have to stop doing this to yourself." He spoke in French quietly, as to not disrupt his sleeping son, Brice on the couch.

"I know but I can't help it, Branson. He _finds_ me!"

Her brown eyes began to tear. He quickly wiped it away with a hand.

"Listen Megs, we may no longer be together. But you're my family now, and I need to do whatever it takes to protect the both of you." The both of them glanced at their son. Curly blonde hair. Tall for a boy of three.

"I have a plan. The Inquisitor invited me to join the Inquisition. I've been writing back and forth with Cullen. I explained the situation. We're welcome at Skyhold. Both you and him will be protected. And that asshole can't find you there. Cullen, or me, won't let it happen."

Megan sniffed as she returned the cloth to her bruised cheek.

"I don't speak Common very well. You know this."

"I know. You're getting better though. And I think it would be good for Brice to go out and be around other people. See other things, and not have to worry about his mother getting beat up by some low life." He pressed a friendly kiss to her forehead. "I wouldn't suggest leaving Orlais, if I didn't think it was in your best interest."

Megan stood, and picked Brice up carefully. "You're right, Branson." There was reluctance in her voice, but she nodded in silent agreement as she began to walk down the hall to lay Brice down in his bedroom. He stood, and followed her quietly down the hall, and held the bedroom door open for her. She placed their son genty on the bed, and tucked the thicker blankets around him. Branson leaned against the wall, and their eyes met as he sighed.

"This is the right thing," She whispered. "And I can see him all the time. He'll have plenty of places to play… It's not fair to keep him cooped up here in this tiny house. Afraid of the world. Afraid of what he is."

Branson ran a hand through his hair, and rubbed the back of his neck.

"He's too much like me," Branson whispered, in common.

Megan stood slowly, and shook her head. He had hoped maybe she didn't understand. But she was giving him that look. The same look he gave her whenever she came over with a new bruise.

"Branson, who you are. Is a wonderful person. You have a gift. You've given our son a wonderful gift. You don't have to be ashamed."

She pulled him into a hug. His arms hung loose at his sides for a moment. However, they both needed the comfort. With some reluctance, he wrapped his arms around her, and closed his eyes. Her hands were still cold from the ice pack. It sent a shiver down his spine, yet Megan didn't pull away. So they stayed like that for a minute or two, with her head in his chest, as his chin rested on top of her head. The shampoo she used smelled faintly of lilac and roses. Just strong enough for the smell to linger all day. He could see why she liked it. For whatever reason, it was comfort, and security.

"We should get some sleep. We have a lot of packing to do before we head out tomorrow."

"Yes," She whispered. "Of course."

Orlesian had come fairly naturally to him. All things considered, he'd picked up on it fairly quickly, and was fluent a year and a half, but only because he'd put in the time and the effort. It was amazing what one could accomplish if they forced themselves to have conversations with people. It had started as an endeavor to just simply get a date. A date had obviously turned into something more.

"Megan," He took her hand. "You don't have to sleep on the couch tonight, if you don't want to."

She squeezed his hand for a moment, but shook her head.

"I don't think that's a good idea Branson. This…. On again off again thing. It's not good for us. Or for Brice. I'm happy to be your friend. I'm glad to have your support… But we just… Anything beyond friendship? We can't be that for each other."

He swallowed hard, but nodded before tucking a stray hair behind her ear. It was really over for the two of them, then. As much as he may not have cared to admit it right then, she was right. This on again, off again thing they had going on wasn't fair to anyone.

They spent the next morning packing what they could into three bags. Amongst the hardest things to pack were Megan's skirts. Bloody Orlais and their fashion sense. But, those were the things that Mega felt the most comfortable in, and so she picked her three favorite outfits, and packed them up for the trip. Packing Brice's toys was the second adventure. Branson himself didn't really have all that much to pack. His mates would look after the chickens in the coops while the three of them were away. He'd lived a fairly humble lifestyle, all things considered.

The journey to Skyhold was long. Mostly because they had a fussy three year old who didn't quite understand where they were going, or why.

"We're almost there, Briceyboy!" He'd reassure him, and add an extra tickle or two in for good measure. Poor bloke must have been bored. Eventually, they arrived. Branson hadn't really known what t expect, but it seemed that Skyhold was a very beautiful place, filled with a lot of lively people.

Branson dismounted from his own horse, and walked over to Megan, with their son in her lap. He took the squirming child, grinned from ear to ear, and watched as Megan slid down from her horse. She looked about, and smiled.

"This will… Not be too bad, no?"

"Not at all, He smiled, and placed Brice on his shoulders.

"What'd you reckon, Briceyboy? You fancy our new house?"

Brice had his hands buried in his father's hair, and giggled.

"Big house!"

Branson chuckled quietly, and looked about.

"You made it." A familiar voice rang out from somewhere nearby. When he turned, he found Inquisitor Lavellan approaching the group of newcomers. She smiled. "Cullen informed me of the situation. We're happy to have all of you here with us."

"And we appreciate the invitation, Inquisitor."

Branson couldn't help it. She looked much better dressed in that thigh length leather vest, well fitted pants, and knee high boots. Not that she hadn't looked great the night they'd met, but these clothes actually flattered her.

"Let me show you to your housing, and I'll see if I can get our Commander off of work long enough to say hello."

Branson laughed and followed the Inquisitor's leads. The lodgings were well kept. Brice and Megan would stay in one lodging, while he had one to himself. It was very nice.

 _I reckon I'm gonna feel right at home here._

It only took a few weeks for them to get settled in. Before no time, the Inquisitor had invited him out on a mission. Some place called the Emerald Graves. She'd found him in the tavern, and slid into a chair beside him.

"I've seen you train, You're good with a sword. And I've seen you toss those daggers to use as well on those training dummies. I think you'd be good in a fight." She smiled at him.

"I reckon I'm pre'y decent in a fight, yeah? I appreciate the invitation. What we doin' exactly?"

Inquisitor Lavellan put her hands together, propped her elbows on the table, and rested her chin in her hands.

"Our scouts were approached by a Noble named Fairbanks. Allegedly, they've been attacked by some group calling themselves the Freemen of the Dales."

"Ah, that does sound like a problem. Sure, Inquisitor. I'd be happy to tag along. 'Fore you go though, can I buy you an ale?"

Her ears perked suddenly at the offer, and she nodded enthusiastically.

"I would like that very much. Thank you, Rutherford. It's nice to have someone to talk to around here that has nothing to do with my work." Branson smiled, and took a sip of his own ale, before placing two silver on the bar. The bartender nodded, and turned around to fetch another ale.

"Well, I certainly hope I can lighten up the party." He winked.

Sweet maker, she was cute. And she even chuckled quietly before she nudged him gently n the arm with her elbow.

"You already have."

"I'll try not to let you down, inquisitor."

"Call me Roshan when nobody is around. I haven't heard my own name in so long, I think I've nearly forgotten."

The bartender nodded, and placed the ale down. She took it, and went to drink before Branson put a hand on her shoulder.

"To you, Roshan. And droppin' all these bloody formalities while we can afford to."

"I can drink to that." They clinked their drinks together.

"I'm glad you're here, Branson."

"As am I."

He sipped his ale, and could have sworn that for a moment, he saw her blushing. Or maybe it was just the lighting. In any case, he had a mission to prepare for.


End file.
